


In The Lap of The Gods

by girlafraidinacoma



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: 1960s, 1970s, Bad Flirting, Early Queen, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Light Angst, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Relationships, Pre-Queen, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Smile Era, Song Lyrics, Swearing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, self-indulgent bullshit, starving artists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-11-03 18:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17883152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlafraidinacoma/pseuds/girlafraidinacoma
Summary: What do you get when you mix a tight-knit art community, young, hot-blooded twenty-something university students and good old-fashioned British Rock & Roll? Probably the next best hope for art and music that generation has to offer.With her friends' band skyrocketing to fame, what exactly does a girl do when she suddenly finds herself sitting in the lap of the gods? The answer: do the only thing she can do, rise to the occasion of course!





	1. Freddie

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to my friend Ty who inadvertently got me writing again.
> 
>  
> 
> (This is the part where I give credit to the songs that create the soundtrack for this chapter.)  
> The In the Lap of the Gods Playlist:  
> 1\. This Will Be Our Year - The Zombies  
> 2\. I Can't Let Go - The Hollies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger decides to take pity and befriend a pretty new face. Parties are definitely a lot more fun when you know at least one other person...

**Chapter One - Freddie**

 

**Ealing, September 1969.**

 

She first knew him as Fred Bulsara, a new face she had met during a small social thrown at Ealing Art College.

She was at a lively sort of gathering, just as expected in a room full of art students, drinks were being passed to and fro while the newest album by The Zombies was being played on the record player. The upbeat melody of a piano opened a new track as Rod Argent dulcetly crooned:

_The warmth of your love_

_Is like the warmth of the sun_

_And this will be our year_

_Took a long time to come_

For a quarter of an hour now she had been drinking an unknown concoction handed to her by one of the girls that greeted her when she arrived at the function room. It was tart but potent in its alcoholic glory, and she could only force herself to sip at the damn thing. Truly, it was a horrible excuse for punch.

It was then that he had sauntered up to her, cool as anything, taking the drink from her hand and placing it down on the ground and against the wall. “Oh, darling you shouldn’t drink that rubbish, I know the girl who mixed those and her taste buds must be dead or dying if she’s serving this monstrosity.” In his hand he had two dark bottles, one he handed to her and the other had begun to drink out of.

“Cider?” she asked.

“Strawberry.”

“Ooh, thank you. It’s good.” She commented after a cursory taste.

“And more importantly, stronger than you’d think,” her new friend said with a grin. “Now tell me, how come a beautiful girl like you is all by her lonesome this Friday night?”

“It’s a mixer, isn’t it? The purpose is for lonely people like me to meet some new friends.” She felt a bit self-conscious, fiddling with a loose thread at the end of her long sleeve. Her companion considered her outfit for a moment and silently approved; she was in a white off-shoulder peasant blouse embroidered with flowers that she paired with high-waisted flares and tan boots. She wore several rings on her slim fingers and she twisted one or two of them almost unconsciously as they talked.

He chuckled, “And how’s that going for you, darling?”

“Woefully. Until now,” she admitted, pushing her chocolate hair away from her face, “Wyn Clemens.” she said holding out her right hand.

“Fred Bulsara,” he introduced  himself, “but everyone calls me Freddie since they can’t pronounce my last name for shite!” Chuckling, he shook her hand and took another swig from his drink.

Fred had an exotic look about him, all glossy black hair, gleeful almond eyes, and large prominent teeth that completed that million-watt smile of his. His laughter was infectious, and he had a way of speaking that was vulnerable and disarming, and entirely captivating all the while. He was lovely, and Wyn was soon eager to get to know him.

“Are you in first year as well, Freddie?”

“Oh no, darling. I’m sad to say I’ll be graduating this year and leaving you lot.” He said as he smoothed out the fabric of his dagger-collar shirt.

“Friday night and you’ve crashed a social for new students?”

“I would hardly call it crashing dear, I’m the most exciting person here.” He joked, “But I can’t deny that free booze is a great incentive.”

“Wise words.”

“So what are you then, painter, musician, writer, fashion designer?”

“I like to dabble in a couple of things, painting and drawing mostly, but I’ve been trying to get a handle of photography recently.”

“Any good?”

“Art is subjective,” she supplied coyly as if to remind him.

“Oh haven’t you heard?” Fred asked with fake surprise, “Modesty is totally overrated.”

“Of course, how could I forget!” Wyn exclaimed with equal false passion before breaking into a laugh.

“If you’ve got talent, I say flaunt it.”

“Tell me then, what does the great Freddie Bulsara get up to at Ealing?”

“I’m in graphic design. But music, music I think is my purpose. My purpose for being, my greatest love.”

Wyn sighed at the dreamy look in his eye, “A musician? Should have known, though I would have pegged you for a thespian.”

“Who, little old me on film? I don’t think anyone would be prepared for the magnitude of my handsomeness.”

“Yes, I’m surprised we’re not yet blinded by your radiance.”

“Oh, I do like you! You’re just my speed.” Fred said nodding appreciatively.

“Right, so music, what instruments do you play?”

“I was taught piano as a child you know, but I love to sing.”

“I’d love to hear you some time.”

“I’ll make sure that everyone and their mother would have heard me, or of me before I’m done!”

“Is that what you want? Fame, glory, your name in lights? Spelt correctly, of course. ”

“I want to give the people a voice darling, to all the little boys -- and girls -- who thought that they’d never be anyone or anything, ever. I want them to hear me and know that I’m singing for them and they’re singing through me.” He said rather earnestly, “And if I get famous and filthy stinking rich along the way, then it will be a happy consequence.”

There was a conviction in Freddie she saw just now, and she couldn’t help but marvel at him. For even in the dim tungsten light that bathed the party in an orange haze, Freddie seemed to shine on his own as if he were lit from within.

It was another moment before she remembered her train of thought. “Fred Bulsara,” she began, her voice just above a whisper, a profound smile on her face, “Freddie. It’s such a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited (08/05/19).


	2. That One Time When Fred Went Out for Coffee Or, Why Being a Young Entrepreneur is Harder than You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all about the hustle when you're a broke uni student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is the part where I give credit to the songs that create the soundtrack for this chapter.)  
> The In the Lap of the Gods Playlist:  
> 1\. Waterloo Sunset - The Kinks  
> 2\. Girl - The Beatles
> 
> {I promise we'll get to Brian soon!}

 

**Chapter Two: That One Time When Fred Went Out for Coffee Or, Why Being a Young Entrepreneur is Harder than You Think**

 

**Kensington, November 1969.**

 

Out of breath and flushed pink, a young woman strode inside a musty little stall in Kensington Market, the shop bell giving a faint sort of ding upon her entrance. Freddie, who was quietly cataloguing their inventory in a faded blue balance book, smiled when he looked up to greet his friend.

“Wyn Clemens! You’ve come to visit me.” Fred said, ecstatically skipping his way to her from behind the counter before hugging her shoulders.

The girl made quick work of untangling the woolen scarf she had wrapped several times around her neck and mouth, placing that and her coat on the hook by the door.

“I swear I’ve gone up and down the place twice and both times I’ve managed to miss you entirely! Blimey, I didn’t think it was this small.” Her eyes scanned the darkened interior.

Currently their stall was nondescript, tucked away in between a carpet wholesaler and a shoe repair place, hidden away amongst the plethora of other stalls just like it. Cozy was one word for it, cramped was another, more accurate descriptor. Really, it was more of a booth. There they sold various garments and accessories to clothe the young bohemians, rockers, mods, punks, hippies and everyone in between who seemed to frequent the market there. Their shop was manned and looked after by Freddie and his friend Roger, and only by them, which was why, while their inventory was not exactly vast, it did quite literally seem to swallow the entire place in velvet, faux fur, leather, and brocade.

“Hey!” someone yelled in indignation, “This is a very fine establishment we run here, I’ll have you know!” A blonde head emerged from the back of the shop, a little area sectioned off by a dark curtain. It hid a tall, narrow mirror and served as both their stock room and fitting room.

The girl raised her eyebrows, feeling slightly sheepish at having offended this new person. “Wyn, this is Roger, the friend of mine I’ve been telling you about. He runs this dismal dispensary with me.” He said, not looking behind him as he gestured his head towards the blonde’s general direction. “Rog, this lovely creature you see before you is my new friend, Wyn.”

“Ah, the Ealing bird. Well, I suppose I could let that slight go for your pretty face. The name’s Roger Taylor, very nice to meet you, love.” He gave her his hand to shake, his lips upturned in a smirk.

“Careful there, Rog.” Freddie reminded him, which earned him a mischievous look from the blonde.

“Wyn,” the girl announced, unfazed by Roger’s cheesy smile, “I’ve come bearing gifts!”

“Ooh! Gimme! Gimme!” Freddie cried happily, his hands making grabbing motions all the while.

Wyn tutted at his antics shortly before presenting him a brown paper bag. “I thought it would cheer you up, while you’re stuck here.”

Freddie opened the bag and what he found there nearly brought him to tears. The bag was filled with fresh pastries still warm to the touch as he poked his nose inside and took a long whiff. He placed it on the counter before examining the goodies one by one, a hungry Roger joining his side. “You do care, Wyn! It’s just like Christmas! And here I thought everyone had forgotten about me. It feels like I haven’t seen the sunlight in days.”

“Weeks, really,” Roger added mournfully, before stuffing his mouth full of pastry. They had both been cooped inside their store trying to peddle their wares since the weekend and it was now Tuesday afternoon.

Freddie had a dramatic faraway look in his eye, his mouth shaped in a forlorn ‘O’ before finally snapping out of it. God, Wyn thought, he really should have been in theatre.

“C’mon then Wyn, tell us about all the changes in the outside world,” Fred was prattling away again, “Is dear old Liz still on the throne? How about Coronation Street, is it still playing? And what about tie-dye? Are people still wearing tie-dye?”

There was a quiet moan of “Oh Jesus, that’s the spot.” that came from Roger as he polished off an apricot danish.

Wyn gave the two of them a fond chuckle, trying to ignore the ridiculous sounds of ecstasy from the blonde as he delved into a croissant. “Let’s see,” the girl gave a pause for dramatic effect, “Yes, God forbid anyone else who’s set their eyes on that chair. Everybody knows Coronation Street is for ever. And it brings me to tears just thinking about it, but yes, unfortunately, the tie-dye lives on.”

“I knew it! It’s useless, Rog.” Freddie shouted, calling Roger’s attention. “Just bury me in these fur stoles. Even if they’re not real at least I’ll be kept warm and they haven’t assaulted anyone’s retinas.” He had trudged over to a rack of miscellaneous animal coats and stoles and buried his face in them. His further rant became muffled and unintelligible as he cried into the mass of faux fur.

“How long has he been like this?” The girl turned to the blonde with a worried look.

“On and off since Saturday,” he informed her, brushing stray crumbs from his mouth. “We’ve hardly sold anything.”

“This is no good, come on Fred. You just sit down, I’ll go out and grab us a couple of coffees and come straight back.”

Freddie perked up upon hearing this and was almost back to his usual spirits. “I have an idea, can I go get the coffees instead, darling? I want to go outside, I want to hear the birds chirping and smell that London smog. Maybe that old lady from the fruit and veg stall could yell at me, that would really get me going.”

“Alright Fred,” she said with a comforting smile, pouring into his open palm a handful of coins. “Happy hunting.”

Freddie had taken off so fast he had forgotten to bring his jacket which he left still hung up on the door.

“That’s probably the happiest I’ve seen him all weekend,” Roger said wistful.

“If he’s happy, then I’ve done my job.”

Wyn had started to look the clothing racks, her fingers stroking the garments in fascination. She also took out two or three items she had liked, inspecting them fully before shaking her head and putting them away, Roger meanwhile stood beside her giving his opinion on them. Soon he was entertaining her by spinning little yarns about several pieces, how they acquired them, whom they were worn by, all made up but increasingly fantastic.

“You looking for anything in particular, love?”

“Not really, whatever catches my fancy, I suppose.”

“How about now,” he said as he had stood in front of her, hands on his waist and a twinkle in his eye, “Do I catch your fancy?”

“I’m in the market for clothes today, Roger, not a boyfriend.”

“Who said anything about a boyfriend?”

“Uh-huh. Maybe some other time, Taylor.”

“Alright, alright.” he said, pacifying her. “Something to wear then. Something that will work for your figure?”

“I’d never be opposed to looking good.”

Roger was still flirting with her, but he also appeared to have a clear focus now, he was a man on a mission to find her something she could be persuaded into buying. “Do you like wearing patterns?”

“I’d give it a go.”

“How about colour?”

“Love them.”

“Any you’re partial to?”

“Every colour of the rainbow!”

Roger scoffed playfully in exasperation, she really was no help, but he enjoyed her company. “I think I have just the thing for you,” Rog said with a snap of his fingers before darting behind their makeshift stock room/ fitting area. He came back about a minute later with a frock on a plastic hanger.

What he presented her with was a white and green houndstooth dress in the mod style which had a black peter-pan collar and a short mini-skirt. Wyn let out a pleased hum, “I like the way you think, Taylor.”

Roger barked a laugh though he seemed to glow in praise, “That might be the first time a woman has said that to me.” He reached into his pocket and fished out a packet of smokes and a lighter. “Go on, then. Try it on.” He urged her, pushing her behind the curtain and sticking a cigarette between his lips.

Roger sported a boyish charm, all buoyancy and pent-up energy. Wyn thought it was ironic the way that he was blessed with the looks of a cherub by Raphael, yet flirted like a devil. It was little wonder Freddie had warned her about him when the topic of his friends came into conversation. Before she could wrestle the corduroy off her legs Roger’s hand had slipped in between the partition, throwing a pair of shoes at her.

“Black gogos? Oh, you really must be out to get me. I’m going to freeze out there.”

“You’re just fitting them on!” The voice behind the curtain replied. “You don’t have to wear them out…You don’t have to wear anything at all.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Just saying.”

A couple of minutes later she stepped out from behind the curtains, smoothing down the dress where it wrinkled a bit in her midsection. “What do you think?” she asked, striking a pose.

Roger took another large puff from his half-finished cigarette before putting it down on the ashtray on the counter. He began to sing lowly as he drew near to her, “Is there anybody going to listen to my story, all about the girl who came to stay?” There was another cheesy grin on his face as he took Wyn’s hand abruptly and led her into an impromptu slow-dance. “She’s the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry. Still, you don’t regret a single day. Ah, girl,” he sung as he spun her.

Wyn smiled, “I’m going to take that answer as a ‘yes’, but I wouldn’t know how I’d wear it though, my hair…”

“You could wear it swept back, or up.” Roger suggested, now extremely close. He removed his left hand from her hip and used it to gather her thick hair up and away from her face, fingers grazing the back of her neck.

Wyn cleared her throat, her cheeks and neck heating. “You think Fred will let me have this for cheap if I asked nicely?”

“I think if you asked nicely, he’d let you have the whole shop.”

“It’s probably costing him more to run it at this point.”

“Us both.”

The two broke out into a fit of laughter, not even acknowledging the customer who had just walked into the shop.

“Okay, Rubber Soul. So these are the kinds of guerilla tactics you’d stoop to for a sale?” Blushing furiously, Wyn pushed away from him when they finished their dance, choosing to hoist herself up onto the counter next to her bag of sweets.

“Only the best service to our most important clientele.” he said through half-lidded eyes.

“How much for this?” a voice said from behind them.

Roger groaned in annoyance having forgotten the presence of this third person. It was a shame Fred still hadn’t come back,that way he could have dealt with this new nuisance while Roger turned his attentions to the girl in front of him. Rog barely spared him a glance as the man held up the garment in question. “Seven pounds.”

Wyn watched the interaction with great amusement.

“Five quid.” the man tried to haggle.

“Seven.”

“This button’s loose, five and five pence.”

“Six if you leave here now.”

“You’re fleecing me.” the man whined handing Roger the money with reluctance.

“Actually, that’s crushed velvet.” said Roger with a cool, impassive grace, plucking his cigarette from the ashtray and taking a puff.

Slipping on his new jacket, the man set off grumbling, nearly bumping into Freddie who narrowly avoided him, carrying a tray of hot coffees in styro cups.

“Took you awhile Fred,” Roger called, leaning against the counter and smoking casually.

Freddie placed the coffees down on a bench by the window. “Roger,” he began slowly with a disgruntled look in his eye. “Was that man just now, wearing my coat?”

“Huh?” this alerted Roger somewhat, he had stopped what he was doing. His eyes grew large as he looked to Freddie and back down at the crumpled note and small coin in his palm.

“Rog, you absolute pillock, did you sell my coat?”

“...Fuck.”

As quick as a bolt Fred had crossed the room in two strides, snatched the money right out of Roger’s grasp and ran back out the door. Freddie ran after the man who bought his beloved jacket, shouting and swearing like a madman all the way.

At the end of the day, Wyn had felt so guilty she ended up paying for her things in full. She had no regrets though. Sure she was down a couple of pounds, but she had managed to get herself a great fitting dress, and a killer pair of boots, not to mention the favour of the infamous Roger Taylor -- a feat she hoped she had managed with all her dignity intact. Or at least she hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited (08/05/19).


	3. 'Don’t Forget To Smile!'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it begins...Brian decides to have a chat with one of Roger's girls. Freddie enters the scene in medias res and immediately proceeds to nope out of there, exiting stage right. Roger is still asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is the part where I give credit to the songs that create the soundtrack for this chapter.)  
> The In the Lap of the Gods Playlist:  
> 1\. Ramble On - Led Zeppelin  
> 2\. Hello, I love You - The Doors

 

**Chapter Three - 'Don't Forget To Smile!'**

 

**London, November 1969.**

 

It all started with a couple of drawings. Pencil or charcoal drawings, quick studies of hands, profiles of people and renders of the view of the street from the flat Roger and Freddie shared. They sat in a small pile in their living room, under a couple of magazines that Brian had been perusing to pass the time. What had caught his eye however was a detailed portrait of Jimi Hendrix with his Stratocaster. It wasn’t just on some scrap bit of paper either, it was made on thick stock, the kind that artists used, and it had rough edges as if it were originally a larger piece of parchment that was carefully divided into several A4 pages.

 

Jimi was dressed in an open flowy shirt and had his eyes closed in concentration, the light from above him casted deep shadows upon his face. It didn’t look like Fred’s handiwork, and he had seen numerous other ones he had done before. There was a distinct impression on the bottom right hand corner of the page, the artist’s initial he would have guessed; it was a long and swooping line like the body of a snake and formed a slanted capital  _ **'W**_ _'_. Brian didn’t really know much about art, and was more comfortable measuring the distance between stars, or better, fluffing about on his guitar, but he decided he liked it very much.

 

“Rog,” he said, calling the attention of the man currently buttering a piece of toast in the kitchen.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Brian sidled up to his friend, showing what he had in his hand, “Is this yours?”

 

“Hm?” Roger turned his gaze at the drawing, swallowing the bread he was chewing he said, “No, a friend of mine drew that.”

 

“Do you think-- Could I have it?” Brian asked sheepishly, his eyes still admiring the pencil work.

 

“Good isn’t it? I’ve got one of Jane Fonda in my room,” he grinned with a wiggle of his brows, “Yeah, don’t think she’d mind, she leaves loads round here.” His friend had turned back to his meal, slathering more jam on his toast.

 

“Thanks.” Brian said, pleased.

 

* * *

 

 

Weeks later, after he’s hung his favorite new picture up on his bedroom wall at home, Brian was back at Fred and Roger’s place, hoping to talk to the blonde about their upcoming gig that week. The door to their flat was unsurprisingly not locked, still he gave a short knock at the door to warn people of his entrance. He had made the mistake twice or three times before of walking in on Roger with a lady friend. Why he hadn’t taken them to his room or at least locked the door, was beyond Brian’s comprehension. He suddenly felt a great sympathy for Freddie whom had to live with Roger’s antics on the daily.

 

What he was met with inside however was a lulling pitter-patter of percussion, and the warm strum of an electric guitar over Robert Plant’s familiar vocals. Neither Fred nor Roger was anywhere to be seen, but someone had left the record player on. The music of Zeppelin was like a balm to Brian’s ears as Page’s guitar played the quick rise and fall of notes on the fretboard. He made a beeline to the player in the living room, drawn to it like a moth to a flame. He was so engrossed in his study of the vinyl jacket that he failed to notice the other person in the room.

 

“Can I help you?” a voice from the armchair asked.

 

Brian whipped around so fast he had dropped the empty vinyl sleeve. He had a hand to his chest and he felt his hammering pulse beneath his shirt. “Sorry,” he said, going for the item he had dropped. “I didn’t see you there.”

 

The person smiled at him from where she sat, eyes dancing at his priceless expression having been so caught off-guard. It was a woman, close to his age, and she had a purple scarf tied around her wavy brown hair which cascaded down her shoulder. She sat sideways in her seat and her lean legs were draped over one arm of the chair while her back was supported by the other. Her feet were angled towards the end table with the stack of magazines. Despite the way she had so casually perched on Freddie’s armchair, she was holding herself so easily and so regally that she could have been Cleopatra on her throne.

 

“Er, I was looking for Rog?” Brian answered in reply to her initial question.

 

“He’s still asleep.”  

 

“Right, right.” Brian nodded, his gaze flickering over to the door of Roger’s room. Of course he’d still be asleep, it was only half past twelve after all. He took the seat across from her on the sofa. “I’m --”

 

“You’re Brian, aren’t you?” she finished for him.

 

“Sorry,” he said, apologising once more. “Have we met? I thought I’m usually better at remembering these things.” Brian was scratching his curly head trying to put her face to a name.

 

“No, no. Only Roger mentioned he was in a band and that he had a friend called Brian who played guitar. Dark curly hair, tall, lacks fashion sense, lost puppy-dog eyes.”

 

“Rog said I looked like a... _puppy_?”

 

The girl chuckled, “Just my observation.” Her tone was cheeky, but not unkind.

 

“Oh,” he said with a blush.

 

“I’m only playing,” she laughed, there was a rosy tinge to her cheeks. “I like your eyes, they’re very nice; and I don’t think you’ve got terrible taste in clothes.”

 

“Um, thanks.” He said, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. He didn’t think that she was lying; though looking down at his simple pinstripe button down and dark trousers ensemble, and knowing his eyes to be a rather plain blue, Brian thought himself to be rather unremarkable.

 

“Could afford to pop open a few buttons though,” she mused, “And maybe roll up the sleeves?” Her brown eyes, a shade or two deeper than her hair, sparkled in the early afternoon light. He might have blamed Led Zeppelin, or maybe the way her hair fell around her like a halo, it may have been due to the fact that her eyes had never left his during their entire interaction thus far, or perhaps it was a combination of all of these things, but Brian was utterly smitten.

 

“I um, appreciate the pointers.”

 

“Sometimes all it takes is a fresh perspective.” The girl said with warmth.

 

 

_Mine's a tale that can't be told, my freedom I hold dear_

_How years ago in days of old, when magic filled the air_

_'Twas in the darkest depths of Mordor, I met a girl so fair_

_But Gollum, and the evil one_

_Crept up and slipped away with her, her, her, yeah_

_Ah, there's nothing I can do now_

_I guess I'll keep on_

 

 

They spend the next minute or so in relative quiet, happy to let the song speak for them. That was...until Brian next chose to open his mouth, “So, you're...here for Rog?” It was more of a statement than a question at this point.

 

“Hmm?” The girl raised her eyebrows.

 

“You and Rog, you’re-- here f-for him -- with - with him?” Put one beautiful girl in front of him and the astrophysics major is reduced to a stuttering idiot. His fingers tapped on his knees anxiously, he sees her lips press into a thin line and her eyes grow stormy.

 

“Right, because men and women can’t ever just be friends?” Her accusation was followed with his dumbfounded silence. She felt mortified and her chest burned. “D’you go around assuming every woman that’s ever stepped foot in this flat has slept with your mate, or am I just special?”

 

“I didn’t really er-- that is, I know that sounds…” he struggled for the words.

 

“No, no, it’s fine. It was just your observation.” she said, having lost the humour in her voice. It seemed as though their conversation had officially ended. It was then that Brian noticed the sketchbook in her lap, and the charcoal held between her fingers. But before he could peek at what she had been doing, she had closed the book shut and reached for her satchel propped against her chair.

 

The door to Freddie’s bedroom opened unceremoniously and the man came out fully dressed, keys jangling in hand. “Sorry to make you wait, I couldn’t find my other bloody shoe.” Freddie was surprised to find Brian there that afternoon, and especially so, finding the taller man looking quite ill and confused. “I see you’ve met Brian.”

 

“Yep.” the girl said, putting her things into her bag.

 

Fred might have guessed as to what led to this uncomfortable situation: one, Roger had never been the type who was short of female companions; two, for someone normally so articulate, Brian had probably one of the worst cases of foot in mouth syndrome Freddie’s ever been witness to; and three, his poor new friend has entirely no idea of the effect she had on the opposite sex. This scenario appeared to make the most sense to him. Seeking to relieve the tension, Fred had thought a speedy escape would be their best course of action. Collecting their coats in a calm fashion, he beckoned to her, “Coming, darling?”

 

“Born ready, Freddie.” she replied, her face was an impassive mask as she spared one last look to Brian before walking out the door with Fred.

 

Brian, rooted in his spot on the sofa, released a long suffering groan into his hand. He had gone and done it now, alright. He really had no luck with women, and he felt like a true dolt. He somehow managed to insult a mutual friend of both his best mate as well as that of that best mate’s flatmate all in one fell swoop. And he didn't even know the poor girl’s name.

 

Standing up, he walked over to where she had just been. Her seat was still warm, and by the end table was another set of fresh drawings. It appeared she been working on a flyer for their upcoming gig; ironic, given the circumstance, in large bold letters it mocked him saying, _‘DON’T FORGET TO SMILE!’._

 

Sure enough, on the bottom right-hand corner was a single initial, a pristine, looping _' **W**_ _'_.

 

 

_I can't find my bluebird_

_I listen to my bluebird sing_

_I can't find my bluebird_

_I keep rambling, baby_

_I keep rambling, baby_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, shout out to @wombatpop for being the most bodacious beta/sounding board.
> 
> Thank you for all those who've left a kudos, or are following my little story! ALL THE LOVE MY DUDES <3.
> 
> Special thanks to @Icantfindacoolnamesothiswilldo for leaving your comments! I super appreciate you, and I'm glad you're liking Wyn! You made my day.
> 
> Edited (08/05/19).


	4. We’re Doing Alright, How About You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smile loses its frontman. Wyn might have a solution. Brian is finally allowed to apologize. Roger might be the only one with a clue. Everyone here is an awful flirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is the part where I give credit to the songs that create the soundtrack for this chapter.)  
> The In the Lap of the Gods Playlist:  
> 1\. Doing All Right...Revisited - Smile  
> 2\. Earth - Smile  
> 3\. Doing Alright - Queen

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**Chapter Four - We’re Doing Alright, How About You?**

 

**Ealing, November 1969.**

They were playing the Ealing College bar tonight, one of their more favoured spots to play if only because everyone knew their names and the beer was free for the rostered band. The place was packed; the room permeated with the heat of bodies and cigarette smoke.

For November, it had been an uncharacteristically mild night. Mild enough for Roger to sport a pair of red gym shorts paired oddly with a dark t-shirt and an open denim button down. The drummer thought that they were doing swimmingly so far; he got at least two or three catcalls before they had started their set, a fact that had him grinning all the while. Brian on the other hand, ever the perfectionist that he was, couldn’t help but pinpoint the rare discordant chord he fumbled during one of the harder bits of a song. He couldn’t tell if either of the boys have noticed, but the displeasure was keen on his face as he shook his head of curls and sucked in a breath.

It also didn’t help that he could tell something was off about Tim tonight. Their bassist/lead-singer had been performing the same as he usually did, his stage presence too hadn’t varied, and had Brian not known him as well as he did he probably would not have noticed anything awry. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Tim was holding back on something. This, of course, sent Brian more on edge and he almost missed their transition from ‘April Lady’ to ‘Earth’.

_I might be at a table_

_And suddenly I'll catch_

_A fleeting vision of her crystal seas_

In an attempt to rid himself of those nagging thoughts, Brian’s eyes scanned the crowd, hoping that at least they were enjoying themselves. He concluded that they were doing moderately well if he was being generous. Many were nodding along to the beat, some even mouthed the words or gave a whoop of appreciation, but it didn’t feel enough for the guitarist. He felt like they could be doing something more, as to what, he couldn’t put his finger on it just yet. Though the truth was that there wasn’t really much more that the crowd hadn’t already seen from them. Their novelty had worn off months prior; moreover,m they had only written a few songs and the band already agreed that they would stop doing covers. Among the sea of drunken expressions was a set of familiar eyes gazing back at him.

They belonged to her: the mystery artist he offended back at Fred and Roger’s flat that very week. He should have known she would be here he supposed, but it didn’t stop his surprise. She was the one that made the fliers for their show and she looked to have been a good friend of Freddie and Roger’s. Brian only hoped he would have a chance to speak to her later and apologize for his behaviour. He hadn’t even gotten her name.

At the moment she was positioned close to the bar, slowly swaying to the music, her pendant earrings swinging lightly as she moved. Feeling the intensity of his stare, her eyes flickered downwards, her cheeks glowing pink. Someone called her attention and she walked away from her spot, Brian’s eyes tried not to lose her in the throng of people. It was Freddie who had called her to him, he had been waiting for her with drinks he managed to procure from the bartender. Brian saw her laughing at something Freddie had said in her ear and he felt a strange churning in the pit of his stomach, he averted his eyes, not wanting to appear even more of a creep than he already probably was. He shifted his focus to his guitar, pouring his concentration into finishing the set as flawlessly as he could.

When they had concluded, Tim took it upon himself to address the crowd, “Cheers, everyone. Hope you enjoyed our show and as always…”

“Don’t forget to Smile!” The group shouted happily in response, with several raising their glasses.

“You’re bloody right!” Roger called from behind his kit, laughing.

They were packing away all their equipment into Roger’s van when Tim had said that he wouldn’t be rejoining them for drinks inside.

“What’s this about Tim?” It was actually Roger who broke the awkwardness first. For such a mild night, Roger was steadily growing heated.

“I’m leaving Smile.” Tim said rather abruptly. Nope. Brian definitely did not see this coming, and the shock was clear on his face.

“What?!” The drummer half-yelled.

“Smile. I’m movin’ on, guys.”

“And what exactly are you moving on towards?” Asked a very agitated Roger.

“Humpy Bong.”

Brian, who had been quiet for a while now, did a double-take. “Humpy Bong?”

“Humpy Bong.” Tim affirmed, “They’re going places. They’re gonna be big.”

“Humpy Bong?” Roger repeated, incredulous. “Are you joking?”

“Don’t do it, Tim.” Urged Brian quietly.

“I’m sorry guys but we’re not going anywhere with this.” The frontman explained. “What, college gigs? Pubs? I’ve got to give it a go.” He said, picking up his guitar case, resolved to leave the two without looking back.

“Well that was…” Brian fell quiet once more, his body still as a statue as he became lost in thought. So that was it then? After years of collaboration, that was the end of Smile?

“A prick move.” Roger finished for him. “Could have at least given us a warning. Shit.”

“‘Unexpected’ was what I was going for, but yeah I would have to agree with you.”

“Jesus, I need a drink.” Rog said as he turned round and tramped back inside. A beleaguered Brian followed him wordlessly, deciding that the situation called for getting sloshed with his bandmate.

Minutes later, Brian and Roger had found a corner booth back inside the bar and were talking amongst themselves. Roger had only worked himself up til now, “I can’t believe it. I’ve never even heard of them until just now! I mean what kind of name is Humpy Bong?” It took a bit of effort, but Brian had luckily talked his friend down into a more manageable simmer. The drummer sighed, visibly upset, “I think he’s right. The show was a load of bollocks.” The words were bitter in his mouth.

“There was room for improvement, yeah.” Brian conceded, not really wanting to put Roger in a worse mood.

“I’ve got better things to do with my Saturday nights,” The drummer said when he got to thinking, “I could give you their names.” He tapped the excess ash off the end of his cigarette in the ashtray, smirking to himself. Brian only pulled a long frown, clearly unimpressed with his bandmate's overcompensating facade.

It wasn't long before a familiar face came over to greet them. “Bri, Roggie. Good show.” Freddie said, strolling up to their table with a good-natured bravado. The pair could always count on him to lift their spirits, Freddie just had an innate talent to make people feel good even with just a few words and his toothy smile. What he did not count on however was to see the figure that stood just over Fred's shoulder. It appears that he brought a girl with him. THE girl. Freddie and Roger's artist friend.

Perhaps, now was Brian's chance to talk to her.

At such a close distance he could see her quite clearly now, his view unobscured by a mass of bodies. She had a square-ish face framed by a full fringe which curled to the apples of her cheeks. She looked sweet, almost child-like with her large open eyes, thick lashes and cute button nose. Tonight she was wearing a crocheted lace top without sleeves and a short denim skirt, her figure made taller by the shiny black gogos on her feet. She was beautiful, of course she was, he had known it since he first saw her, but what was now abundantly clear to him was that consequent viewings would not lessen his admiration of her.

She, meanwhile, dutifully ignored the guitarist.

“Thanks, man.” Brian said half-heartedly, tearing his gaze away from her to acknowledge Freddie.

“Thanks, Fred.” Roger was smiling at his roommate. “And you, Sweet? What did you think?” he looked over Freddie’s shoulder, eyes wide and a little hungry for approval. Brian knew the feeling, unconsciously he held his breath, waiting for her response.

“I liked it, Rog. Groovy.” She said.

Brian only just now remembers to breathe. That’s a good sign, right?

“Hah.” Roger barked, certainly less despondent now. Brian didn’t miss the unsubtle way the drummer’s eyes roved up and down her sparsely covered legs, “Killer boots.” Roger said with a knowing grin, taking a slow drag from his cigarette.

The girl bit down on her lip to prevent a forming smile. “Thanks, they came highly recommended.”

“Well, whoever recommended them must have impeccable taste.” The drummer stated with an exhale of smoke. Although Brian was at a loss as to where the conversation headed, Freddie just chuckled at the pair, clearly in on whatever joke was being shared and began to light his own cigarette.

“He has his moments.” She rolled her eyes, conceding.

“He better.” Roger quipped, before remembering that they were not alone. “Oh Sweet, have I introduced you to Brian yet? Brian, this is our friend, Wyn. That’s Wyn with one ‘n’ and no ‘e’.”

“And who’s reminded us that she’s not Welsh,” Fred cut in.

“Though it is a Welsh sounding name...” Roger added.

“Correct.” Freddie said, nodding.

“Right.” Roger chimed. “Not-Welsh-Wyn, Brian.”

“And that’s ‘Brian’ spelt the regular, boring way.” Fred bantered.

Wyn . Wyn, that was her name, and now that he had it, Brian felt that he could now begin to try and make amends.

But the girl only eyed Brian narrowly, before humming sweetly in affirmative. “Mhmm…” Her eyes travelled to him briefly before diverting her attention to Fred beside her, “Get you another drink?”

“I would love another, darling.” Fred said sliding into the booth next to Roger and engaging him in a chat. If Brian thought he had been deprived of oxygen earlier, her perfunctory dismissal of him left the man with a feeling akin to a gut punch. Wyn’s hair fanned behind her, bouncing a little with each step as she made her way to the bar with renewed purpose.

“I should --” There was a beat until Brian stood up rather quickly, his leg jostling the table and nearly toppling their half-finished beers over in the process “Er, sorry . I should probably go-- sorry…” he said, tripping over his own foot, not quite finishing his thought as he ran after the girl.

Wyn had already called the bartender’s attention, motioning for another two pints with her fingers. There was a small tap on her right and she could only guess as to whose it was. “Excuse me?” It said.

She was debating on whether she would continue to ignore him, her pride still hurt with the petty grievance. But then the voice that came at her shoulder was so tiny, her heart could not deny she lend an ear to it. She would hear him out after all.

“Sorry, I’m Brian. Brian May?” Brian internally berated himself for sounding unsure of even his own name. “You knew that already… I just -- I wanted to apologize for the other day?” There was an imploring look on the guitarist’s face.

“It’s fine.” The girl shrugged her bare shoulders, watching the bartender come back with two lagers, he placed the drinks in front of her and picked up the bill Wyn slid him in payment.

Brian’s large hand was pleasant weight on her shoulder as he vied for her attention. “No, no it’s not. Wyn, I was an arse to you, and I honestly didn’t mean to hurt you with what I said, I wasn’t thinking...Can you forgive me?” She considered him a moment, his beautiful mess of curls, the droop of his mouth, his sad puppy dog eyes full of concern. He reminded her of a poodle. She had always loved dogs...

“You’re right. You were being an arsehole.” Wyn said, deadpan. It was then that she faced body fully towards him and offered an earnest smile, “Thank you, I appreciate the sentiment. But I’m sure buying the next round could expedite the process?” She asked coyly. Wyn wouldn't admit to it, but she’d already forgiven him the second he had asked for it. She couldn’t refuse him, not with the way he had looked so distraught at her earlier rebuffing, and certainly not with those sad blue eyes.

Brian chuckled, obliging. “Happy to.” And he was, to tell the truth flagging down the bartender again and ordering four more, cheerful even as he handed his money over. They shared a smile, and both tried to check the other out without the other person noticing. “I er, I also really wanted to tell you that I liked your stuff. I found a few of the drawings you’ve left at the flat, they're good , and I’ve kind of kept one. Although I should have probably asked you first.”

“That’s lovely of you to say, Brian.” She said sounding very happy, genuinely touched by the compliment. “And I don’t mind, There’s plenty more at home. Which one did you end up keeping?”

“The Jimi Hendrix?”

“Oh, yeah! I did like how that one turned out, I’ve got a few more of him in my sketchbook. I like drawing musicians, actually, you're always in action, unbelievably dynamic. It’s so much fun trying to condense all that energy into a still frame. I always have a bit of difficulty picking which angle and the particular moment to draw them in, photographs are a great help but there’s so much choice!” She revealed excitedly.There was an unhidden passion in the way she spoke and her face lit up. “I could definitely give you more if you’d like?”

"What?" Wyn asked when she met his eyes, Brian looked at her with something she couldn’t quite describe, though he tried to contain his smile. “What are you thinking now, May?”

Absently, Brian tried to come up with an equation to map the poised upward curve of her mouth, but instead of telling her of his plans he merely shook his head saying, “I’m just thinking that I prefer you like this over being angry with me. I felt horrible these past days. I crossed some poor girl I didn’t even know.”

“Well next time don’t be so rude!” She chided, bumping his shoulder.

“And I’ll apologise as many times as you want. I’ll grovel if I have to, I felt that bad.”

“That move must be so popular with the ladies, driving a man to his knees…” Wyn giggled at his stunned expression, also not quite believing the blatant way she flirted with the man. Wyn cleared her throat, “C’mon. I know our boys will be thirsty.”

As they were going back to the table, Brian’s blue gaze widened when he found another person he recognised sitting in their booth. “Hullo, Mary. You alright?” He said, placing their tray of drinks onto the table.

The blonde in question was sitting next to Freddie, leaning into him until she saw Brian approach. Her face was still as pretty as he remembered, and Mary looked at him with a bright grin, “Fine thanks, Brian. I was just stopping by to tell you guys you played well tonight.”

“Thanks, Mary. That’s lovely to hear.” When he saw her get up and grab her coat he grew a little alarmed. “You didn’t want to stay and have a drink with us?”

“Oh um, I’ll be heading off actually. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.” She reminded him kindly. “It was nice to meet you, Freddie.”

“I like your coat,” Freddie said as she slipped it on, but his stare lingered more on the person who was wearing it rather than the actual garment itself, though the coat was very nice.

“It’s from Biba.” she informed him with a blush.

Roger liked Biba, there were lots of girls to see there, not bad looking either. “You’re still working there?” He asked with a knowing grin.

Unbeknownst to Brian, Roger’s eyes bounced between Freddie and Mary, witnessing a mutual spark of attraction. When one’s been at the game for as long as he has, seeing these things become something like second nature.

“Er, yeah. Staff discount and all that.”

“That’s good. I might have a look at your coats some other day.” Fred said with a grin of his own.

Roger stopped himself from snarkily commenting where he would get the money to shop at Biba, when their Kensington stall was slow as ever. Freddie could look as much as he pleased, looking was free, carrying on with Mary was another matter entirely (especially with her and a certain someone's history).

Mary didn’t dare look at Freddie, afraid of giving herself away more. “Well, goodbye.” she said, giving them all a friendly wave. Freddie’s eyes followed her all the way to the exit.

“Bye, Mare.” Brian said warmly. Wyn in the meantime had slipped her body into the booth, flanking Roger’s right side as Freddie did the other, busying herself with her tall lager, happy to fly under the radar. Brian climbed in right next to her.

Roger raised his half-finished drink, “How's about we all get shit-faced now?”

About an hour and a half into their drinking session, Wyn found herself gasping for air as Brian told her one cheesy physics joke, they were terrible and she loved every one of them. Okay, so maybe she shouldn’t have tried to match Roger drink for drink earlier. Freddie and Roger meanwhile had taken to the dance-floor, the drummer again on the prowl.

“So where’s you’re lead singer anyway? I haven't seen him anywhere after the set.” Wyn asked the guitarist when she finally calmed down, wiping at the tears from her eyes. There were many equally drunken conversations being held all around them, yet she doubted anyone was having as good of a time as she was. She found his dry wit and soft-spoken ways quickly smoothing out the wrinkles of her first impressions of him. Maybe she had been too defensive, too quick to anger when he wrongly assumed her relationship with Roger.

“Tim?" Brian asked with raised brows, "He’s the reason for this binge! He just quit. Without even a warning.”

This was new information to her, politeness be damned. “What? That’s pretty shitty of him.”

Brian had already lost count of how many pints he had, an unusual move on his behalf, it was probably the last thing on his mind now that Smile was on the verge of breaking up and the girl in front of him actually seemed to enjoy his conversation. His lanky form swayed a little in his seat. “He left us -- left us for HUMPY BONG . What even is that?”

“A crap name for a children’s show.” She shot back, taking a swig from her glass, before cracking up at her own joke. The two were sitting so close together that Brian’s knee had been knocking hers underneath the table.

“It’s not funny,” Brian said, giggling. “Okay, it’s a lot funny.” Brian told himself that he only felt the need to get closer to her as to hear the girl better, yep, that was definitely the only reason, and not because she was incredibly attractive and had laughed at his jokes (even the shite ones).

“Well then you’ll need someone new, don’t you?”

“We're open to ideas, why, do you have any?” Wyn almost whacked him across the face with the speed at which she pointed at the dance-floor. his eyes followed the direction of her finger. “Roger? I suppose he could sing, people might have a bit of trouble spotting him from the back, though I'm sure Rog will manage, and we'll still need a bass player…”

“No! Not Roger,” Wyn replied with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “ Freddie . Freddie can do it.”

“...I don’t know, Wyn.” he said scratching the back of his head.

“Freddie can do it!” The girl asserted with a vigorous nod of her head. “I know he can, he’s spectacular. You should hear him sing! What's that thing he said about the incisors?”

"I have no clue, Rog is the dentistry student, not me!"

"Something about more teeth, a big mouth and a larger range? You need that mouth! You need his voice!" Brian laughed a little, not at what she was saying per se, but seeing her so eagerly defending their friend only made him more fond of her. Wyn gripped his arm, her hands feeling quite warm on his already heated skin. Waiting after another bout of laughter to pass her, she attempted a sense of sobriety, “Look, I acknowledge the fact that I am hilariously plastered right now, but I know what I’m talking about. YOU. NEED. FREDDIE.”

“You called, darling?” Freddie had appeared right behind her, having returned to their booth when he finished dancing. When he sat down next to her, he undid the next button on his shirt in an effort to cool off. He smiled at Wyn's antics, apparently, volume control went out the window with sobriety.

“Fred!” Wyn said joyously. “Go do your thing.” She urged.

“And what’s that, darling?”

“What’s this about?” Roger said, finally joining them, sweaty and out of breath. He now bore a large smirk, dirty blonde hair mussed as if someone's hands had been pulling at it.

"And you said you were only going to the bathroom," Freddie teased, mouth quirking at the rim of lipstick smudging the perimeter of Roger's lips.

"And so we did." Roger winked, not saying anything else as he skulled his beer thirstily.

Wyn hastily waved him off, “We don't need to know what Roger gets up to in the bathroom, this is about you, Fred! Sing something, go on! Do a Smile one.” She encouraged excitedly.

“Tim, quit on us.” Roger blonde added, following Wyn's track of thought. “We could use a new lead.”

“Oh and this is supposed to be my grand audition, is it? Fine by me.” Fred shrugged and then he began to sing.

_“Yesterday my life was in ruin,_

_Now today I know what I'm doing,_

_Gotta feeling I should be doing alright,_

_Doing alright.”_

As soon as Freddie opened his mouth, all eyes went to him, and soon two other voices joined his in refrain. The harmony of Freddie, Roger and Brian’s voices were enthralling; they complemented each other so well that they sounded effortlessly easy, big, vital. Wyn couldn’t get enough. She clapped at their impromptu performance and pulled Freddie into a tight hug. Roger and Brian shared a contented look.

“So what do you think?” Freddie had asked, in that moment he looked impossibly younger than his twenty-three years, with his voice uncertain, and face lit with hope. Wyn held Freddie tightly in her arms and his hands gripped at her waist, both afraid to let go of one another.

Brian grinned as he clapped him in the back, “Welcome to Smile, Freddie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gif credit goes to @flickofthewrist on tumblr.
> 
> Edited (08/05/19).


	5. "Yes, I'm gonna be a star!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If only all night outs can be completed with pancakes and a spontaneous group sing-along. Mornings are great for quiet contemplation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This is the part where I give credit to the songs that create the soundtrack for this chapter.)  
> The In the Lap of the Gods Playlist:  
> 1.Child of the Universe - The Byrds  
> 2\. Crimson and Clover - Tommy James & The Shondells  
> 3\. Drive My Car - The Beatles
> 
> *IMPORTANT UPDATE* I edited the previous chapters slightly just to finally give the story a proper timeline and a sense of consistency :) (08/05/19). 
> 
> I hope you guys are still enjoying my little story, I'd love to hear from you and feedback could be helpful!

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**Chapter Five - “Yes, I’m gonna be a star!”**

 

**South Kensington, November 1969** .

The night had proven to be eventful, so much so that Wyn, Freddie, Brian and Roger thought it would be a wonderful idea to stay out until the wee hours of the morning or until they were physically ejected from the uni bar’s premises, whichever came first. That was how the four of them found themselves laughing and shouting maniacally; roving about London side-streets at around three a.m. on a Saturday morning. Currently, they were making their way back to Freddie and Roger’s place at a happy meandering pace that only drunks could manage. Yet, despite their various states of inebriation, they were managing to navigate the sprawling city with ease, dodging other revellers of the night along the way.

Roger had left his locked van at the university, deeming all of them too pissed to drive. He would come back for it later, he reminded himself. Brian, however, insisted on carrying his irreplaceable Red Special with them on their adventure home, heavy as the case may be, and ignored the others’ suggestion of leaving it at the bar or in the van with their other equipment. He would not be assuaged in the matter.

They had walked down from the Art College and caught the Tube from Ealing Broadway to South Kensington. The decision, which was suggested by Brian, had shaved off hours from their travel time had they humoured Roger’s massively over-confident ramblings about walking the whole way, saying how he’d ‘ _ done it before’ _ when he was seeing a girl at the Performing Arts School. Perhaps Roger had walked the walk once, but the majority of the group had agreed that they would  _ not _ be walking the nearly seven mile route to the flat,  _ ‘no matter how many times you’ve done it before Roger, thank you very much’ _ . Wyn supposed that she could have walked home to her dorm, she lived in Ealing after all, but Freddie had been so insistent that they spend more time together and quite frankly, she wasn’t keen on their night being over yet. 

Electricity surged through them as they walked their winding path over cobblestones, concrete and asphalt. They scorched a path through the nervous system of their town, feeling as vital as the blood that flowed in its veins. They felt as most do at that certain point in their lives, invincible, young and alive. Nothing but sheer will and the promise of a sweeter tomorrow propelled them, blindly, towards the future. As was the disease of youth.

At some stage during their journey, Freddie had linked his arm with Wyn’s and proceeded to lead the four of them in an impromptu skip-step interlude a la Dorothy Gale and company. Though the others tried to match Freddie in exuberance, their merry troupe only succeeded in nearly face-planting on the road with tripping feet and tangled limbs like some giant spider only just discovering its legs. Thankfully Brian, who had his arm snaked with Wyn’s on her left, had caught her before she fell. Freddie and Roger weren’t so lucky, but they were so drunk they probably wouldn’t feel it until the morning.

Wyn for one was grateful for his quick reflexes, even if it was his dastardly long legs which made her lose her balance in the first place. Well, that and the collective lack of physical coordination within the group in general. She was surprised that he even caught her at all, with far too many drinks between them and the case in his hand clunky as anything. But Brian held tight, and she knew that both she and “Red Spesh”, were in safe hands.

Their little stumble had left them cackling wildly, like it was the best joke they’d shared all evening; trudging on along, the blunder was soon forgotten. As Freddie and Roger forged ahead, determined to perfect the rapid skip-step change, she and Brian fell behind, chatting aimlessly about the colour shift of starlight, Edward Robert Hughes’ watercolours and Led Zeppelin II.

Wyn couldn’t help but note how Brian’s hold never faltered. The weight of his arm around her shoulders was pleasant, further remarking to him that there were certainly less uneven pavers underfoot now that he was doing the steering for them. He held on to her all the way home, perhaps even a little tighter.

 

* * *

 

 

About seven hours later, Wyn awoke from a deep sleep to the feeling of sunlight on her face and exposed arms. In her alcoholic haze, she had neglected to draw the curtains on the window before she turned in, and now the mid-morning light flooded Freddie’s narrow room, indicating the lateness of the hour. As she chased the remnants of sleep away, she recalled that ever the gentleman, Freddie had gallantly offered her his modest bed when they had arrived at the flat.

Rising, she quietly and neatly made up Freddie’s bed and fluffed his pillows. Having slept in only her crocheted camisole, and a pair of cotton knickers, she picked up her discarded denim skirt and socks from by the foot of the bed and slipped them on. She suddenly regretted wearing only so little, perhaps last night at the bar the alcohol and the closely packed bodies of her peers were enough to stave off the cold, but that was not the case this morning as the winter chill set in. Raiding the bombsite that called itself Freddie’s closet, she took out a thick woolen jumper and pulled it over her head, hoping Fred won’t mind her borrowing them for the time being. With her shoes nowhere to be seen, she went out of the room, curious as to where the rest of the boys were.

 

Padding to the next room, she knocked quietly on Roger’s bedroom door. When she received no answer she stuck her head in and peered inside. What she saw there gave her no shortage of delight, and left the incriminating scene silent as a mouse.

In the living area she found Brian’s guitar case sitting prettily on the armchair and its owner lying awkwardly on the ratty old couch. Her eyes quickly zoned in on the appearance of her missing boots at the foot of the couch that Brian was sleeping on. Vaguely, Wyn remembers her drunk and uncoordinated self struggling to pry them off her feet and Brian helping her with what seemed to be an insurmountable task at the time. He had voiced his worries that she would fall and split her head open when he had offered his assistance.

Somewhat more clearly now, Wyn remembers her body being racked with giggles as she tried not to sway so much with the alcohol in her system. She remembers standing above Brian who was seated on the couch, and holding onto his bony shoulders for support. A blush rises to her face at the memory of the guitarist’s long fingers slowly skimming her legs as he had gingerly slipped the shoes off of her feet with care. Impure thoughts about the curly-haired boy suddenly flowered in her head and Wyn, in no uncertain terms, and to her credit, aggressively chastised herself for having them about her new friend. Someone she had only known for a handful of hours.

_ Stop it, stop that! No! Bad Wyn! _

At the moment, said friend was still asleep on the boys’ sunken couch. What was immediately obvious was that Brian was much too tall for it, his legs left dangling off at the end. The home-made throw he clutched to him barely grazed his ankles. He looked cute, though uncomfortable. His neck was bent at such an awkward angle that she frowned at the sight. Thinking to spare him from later pain, she gently shook him awake.

“Brian, Brian love, wake up.” She tried not to lean too close to him, wary of terrifying the poor man with her morning breath.

“Hnngh? Wyn, what is it?” Confusion settled over his tired features, his eyes blinking lazily as they tried to get accustomed to the light, the flutter of his eyelids were like the wings of a butterfly. He dragged a hand down his face and scratched his wild mane of curls.

“You need to see this,” She beckoned. A devilish glint was in her eye as she tugged slightly on the collar of his t-shirt. Brian rose to his feet, clutching the knitted throw tightly around him like a cape and together they tiptoed to Roger’s bedroom.

Brian’s eyes widened to the size of saucers when Wyn opened the door.  Crowded together on the double bed were his bandmates fast asleep. The picture was both equal parts adorable and comical. At some time during their kip, Freddie and Roger had drawn nearer each other until they were sleeping literally one on top of the other. Roger’s head was cushioned comfortably on Freddie’s chest, a stream of drool ran from his mouth and down the line of his chin until it created a small pool on the older man's shirt. Freddie meanwhile had an arm hooked securely around the drummer’s waist, one of his legs poking out of the covers as his wide-mouthed snores were muffled by a sizeable lock of Roger’s blonde hair stuck between his lips.

A girlish giggle came from Wyn. “They look so sweet.” She said in wonder and amusement.

“If only they could stay like this.” Brian stifles his laughter with a hand. “I wish I had my camera.”

“Me too.”

“It would be  _ so easy _ , you know?”

“What would?” She queried.

“Smothering Roger.” He said without a pause.

It was her turn to keep her laughter down as she rolled her eyes, “You don’t mean that. Besides, then you’ll need a bassist  _ and _ a drummer for Smile.”

“You have a point,” Brian said, closing the door. They leaned on the wall outside the bedroom, continuing their conversation, the floor cool on their bare feet. “As much as Roger’s been a pain, I don’t know, truth is, Roger’s been like a brother to me ever since we started Smile.”

“Brother? I would have guessed old married couple.” Wyn stated dryly. “But you know, being a pain, it’s what siblings do best.”

“I mean I always wanted one, a brother. It was lonely sometimes you know, being an only child and having no brothers or sisters to play with.” He averted her gaze, looking a little embarrassed, picking at the yarn on his improvised cape. He really wasn’t sure where he thought this conversation was going.

If Wyn noticed his hesitation, she did not say anything of it, opting instead to keep their chat going. She sighed, suddenly struck sad at the thought of a smaller version of Brian playing all alone. She squeezed his forearm reassuringly. “I can’t imagine growing up without my brother. Yes, he lorded the eight years he had on me like it was his birthright to annoy me at every turn, but it’s a give and take too,” Wyn wanted to alleviate his embarrassment; though they only really properly began to talk just that last night, she wanted to be a good friend. She liked the sensitive, yet bumbling guitarist. She liked his thoughtful eyes, and the quiet, reserved way in which he spoke. It didn’t even bother her now, the mis-step of their first meeting, not when he showed himself to be someone who was quick to ask for her forgiveness.

“Sam, my older brother, liked to tease me constantly. Then I’d throw a tantrum and force him into my tea parties.” She said with mischief in her smile. “I’d lost count how many times he’d make me bawl my eyes out. Still, it wasn’t all bad, sometimes after school he would bring home a bag of sweets. He’d buy it with the pocket money he’d saved then share it with me. He’d even have Sherbet Lemons, though he never ate them, Sam would get them just for me, because he knew they were my favourite.” It was her turn now to feel embarrassed, she hadn’t meant to talk Brian’s ear off about Sam, but that flash of embarrassment couldn’t compare to the warmth kindling in her chest as she thought about her brother.

“Where is he now?” He asked, looking more relaxed. He had been listening to her story with a peaceful expression, the throw around his shoulder slipping.

“Oh, somewhere in the Atlantic most like, he’s a trainee pilot on a cargo ship.” Brian noticed how little Wyn’s voice became as she spoke about her brother, though there was an affectionate smile on her face. “It’s hard, we don’t get to see him a lot.”

“It sounds exciting.” He said kindly.

“Sam’s happy. Mum and dad are proud.” Wyn offered. There was a beat and then she turned to face him, looking sagely. “By the way, I’m  _ sure _ Roger knows.” She said, less than masterfully steering the conversation.

“Knows what?” His brows furrowed.

“How well you think of him.” Wyn provided, breaking into a grin. “Though trust me from experience when I say, he’d be over the moon if you actually told him. Once or twice a year will do.”

Bringing his fingers to his chin, Brian considered it with great amusement. “Yeah, maybe. But it will have to be on special occasions. Can’t let it get to his head.”

“ _ God, no _ .” She concurred. “But you know what else, if you and Roger are as close as you say, then I have no doubt that he’d do anything for you, when it came down to it.” Brian fell silent as she looked at him evenly.

The guitarist looked different in the morning light, gone was the tension in his shoulders, or the seemingly permanent furrow of his brow, instead he felt serene.

“What would  _ you _ do? For Sam?” Brian asked with some curiosity.

Wyn gave a drawn-out exhale, mulling it over. “Hmmmm…probably kill for him? Yeah, I would kill for him.” She expressed decidedly. “Then he’d dispatch of the body, and we’ll share this deep, dark, unconscionable secret, written in blood, never to be spoken of again.”

“Right.” He replied, as if she were only talking about the weather. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah.”

Brian let out a hearty laugh at that, the sound was warm just like him.

“Are you hungry?” She asked, apropos of nothing. Praying to some deity that her face would not betray her fanciful thoughts.

“Starving.”

“Well then you can escort me to the shops. We’ll actually need ingredients if we’re going to cook us a proper breakfast. We’d be lucky if Fred or Roger had anything other than spoiled milk in the fridge.” She received no reply from Brian who merely looked at her as if he was weighing something in his mind. “Bri?”

The man in question suddenly came towards her from the spot he was leaning against the wall and stood only about a hand’s breadth away. He was looking down at her, _ god he was so tall _ , and she could feel his breath on her cheekbone. Wyn didn’t dare move. She seemed to be caught in a spell, and he too appeared in a trance of his own. Slowly, his hand reached up and carefully smoothed down an errant patch of hair that stuck out from her tresses, mussed from sleep.

She felt the material of his blanket brush her neck as he tucked her hair behind her ear. He smiled at his handiwork; his blue gaze was soft. “Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

 

A short trip to Tesco's and forty minutes later, Brian and Wyn return to the apartment, the sound of murmured voices alerting them that Freddie and Roger were now up and about.

“Oh there you are, we'd thought you'd left without saying goodbye!” Fred greeted them when he opened the door. Though he wore a robe, he had not bothered to put trousers on. It was a very ‘Freddie’ look.

“Like a thief in the night.” Added Roger. His body had sunk into the armchair, almost parallel to the ground.

“Don't be silly, Roger.” Freddie said. Roger simply scoffed at his roommate as the dark-haired man continued to speak. “Not like we'd have anything worth stealing, we took the coffee table from the skip!” Freddie reminded him pleasantly.

Brian with an armful of shopping, made his way to the kitchen island to lay it down, “Technically, we all got here in the morning, and if we would have left, it still would have been morning. We wouldn’t have been thieves in the night.”

Roger just groaned in response.

Freddie pointedly looked at his taller comrade. “Go easy on him Brian, he's nursing a bitch of a hangover.”

“Is that why he's wearing sunglasses indoors?” Chirped Wyn.

“Well yes, but he does it all the time regardless.” Freddie divulged before tilting his head to the side. “Is that my top?”

 

Wyn looked down at the orange jumper she wore, she smiled, feeling sheepish. “Yeah, sorry. Was a little cold this morning.” Objectively speaking, she looked a bit silly, the jumper drowned her figure and the colour of the yarn was so bright she would never have the fear of getting lost in a crowd as it was so immediately recognisable it practically screamed  _ ‘Here I am!’ _ . There was also the pointed feeling she had that she resembled something of a giant pumpkin. But the jumper was also very warm and so she liked it very much. 

 

“Think no more of it darling, I’m glad you had the sense to rug up before going outside.” Her friend replied with a broad smile. Truth be told, the jumper had been overly large on Freddie too whenever he wore it, but it served him well in the past and kept him warm through many a cold day especially when they couldn’t afford the heating bills.

“I'm impressed you're up and about this morning Fred, you've had just as much as the rest of us.”

“True,” Freddie admitted, rather perkily. “But I guess I'm just excited. Can you believe it, you're looking at the new lead singer for Smile!”

Wyn laughed to herself. “I can Fred, and I do. We were there when it happened.”

“Where have you two been away?” Roger questioned rubbing at his eyes then shortly pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Wyn thought we might like to have a ‘proper breakfast’. Been to the shops, haven't we?” Brian explained, beginning to take out the groceries.

The girl clapped once, causing Roger to wince. “Yes, now anyone who doesn't help, doesn't eat.” She announced, pulling the blonde up from his seat and joining the others in the kitchen to set them all to work.

Divvying the tasks amongst themselves, they actually made short work of the breakfast preparations. Before long, she was whisking pancake batter contentedly as Roger watched their bacon sizzling away in the pan, still with his sunnies on. Brian was setting the table when he heard Freddie rummaging for something until a needle dropped and a record started to play.

The opening guitar chords was at once very familiar. A rousing cheer from Brian, Roger and Wyn complimented Freddie on his music choice. The domestic scene was immediately energized with the same excited electricity from the night before, and all four of them began to move animatedly.

Surprising them, it was Wyn who beat the three of them to it and first belted out the lyrics. Her voice was loud, and off-key but she made up for it with her unbridled joy. Her head nodded up and down and she brought her whisk up and used it as a mic, not caring for the bit of batter splattering on the island.  _ “Asked a girl what she wanted to be, she said baby, can't you see? I want to be famous, a star on the screen, but you can do something in between. _ ”

_ “Baby you can drive my car!” _ Sang Roger, quickly shutting of the burner and bounding to Wyn’s side to share her mic.

“Yes, Roger!” The girl shouted, happy for him to join her game.

_ “Yes I'm gonna be a star! Baby you can drive my car, and maybe I'll love you.” _ Roger gave her a wink and his signature flirtatious smirk, then picked up a wooden spoon, and with the spatula in the other hand, he began to play on the countertop, drumming to Ringo’s beat.

Wyn and Roger began to sing in unison, both thinking that they were going to put Lennon and McCartney to shame, “ _ I told a girl that my prospects were good, and she said baby, it's understood. Working for peanuts is all very fine, but I can show you a better time! Baby you can drive my car,” _

_ “Yes I’m gonna be a star!” _ Exclaimed Freddie from his spot, with gusto. His arms spread wide.

“Sing it, Freddie!” Roger cried.

Fred sauntered his way over to the duo and spun the girl quickly and without warning several times. Wyn laughed as he continued the verse,  _ “ _ _ Baby you can drive my car,” _

_ “And Baby THEY’LL love you!” _ Interjected Roger as he and Wyn pointed at Fred.

_ “Beep beep'm beep beep yeah!” _ The trio burst out rowdily, shooting their hands up in the air.

From the ratty couch came a bluesy twang of strings. Brian, having taken his baby from its case, played his rendition George Harrison’s lively guitar lick. The three of them were cheering for him, practically giddy as he joined in their fun. Fred stood in front of him with a wide grin, mimicking Brian’s movements on his own air guitar, making his motions as big as possible. The view from his seat was pretty spectacular, and as Brian watched  his friends dancing spiritedly around the kitchen and living area, he silently ponders if it will always be like this; whether it was his destiny to be the observer, playing for the dancers, satisfied with being on the outside and always looking in, or if he too will one day join them. He ponders if one day he will have the courage to dance for a change, to set his instrument aside without worry and have Love twirl in his arms. The guitarist continued to play for them, even when the song changes, he was happy to observe, content for now.

It was a Saturday morning, and though the couch was well worn, the coffee table a salvage job, and all four of them relatively penniless students, they laughed without a care in the world. Here, among friends, the four of them basked in a piece of heaven of their own making, nestled in the heart of London.


End file.
